


Hypothesis

by patternofdefiance



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 12/21/12, End of the World, What if?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 09:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patternofdefiance/pseuds/patternofdefiance





	Hypothesis

“See, the world didn’t end, John,” Sherlock says suddenly, from his chair by the fire. His violin, cradled in one hand, is silent.

John rolls his eyes. “I never said it would end, I said what if -“

“Besides,” Sherlock interrupts, as usual, and John lets him get away with it, as usual, “if the world was going to end, don’t you think I would have deduced it long before? No, no end tonight. No change. Everything remains as it is.” His fingers tap against the neck of the violin, his eyes never leaving the curved and polished wood.

“That’s not the point,” John retorts. “The point of a what if question - “

” -is hypothesis.” Sherlock does it again, smirking. “Boring.” Perhaps it is more of a sneer.

John frowns. “Hypothesis is part of experimentation,” he counters after a moment. “You can’t ask me to believe you find experiments boring.”

Sherlock glances up at John, only his eyes moving, studying him for a brief moment from beneath lashes and fringe. His eyes lock onto John’s. “You are conducting experiments now, John?” The sneer is almost gone now, and definitely softer. “Will you be needing more space in the fridge? In the organ crisper?”

“It’s a vegetable crisper, Sherlock. And no, you can just answer the bloody question. What if - “

“If the world ended tomorrow? What would I do? What would I have done differently?” Sherlock barks out a laugh. “How - why could that possibly matter -“

He swings the violin to his chin, then back down again in agitation. Then in one movement he is standing, violin placed with precision in its open case, hands buried in his curls.

“Nothing.” He looks at John, the flat, the view from 221B, the warzone that is the kitchen. “I would change nothing.”

John meets his stare with a level gaze of his own.

“Why?” Sherlock asks suddenly, something hidden and unexpected unfolding behind his eyes. “What would you change?” His eyes narrow and his muscles tense, just slightly.

John breaks the stare first. “Nothing,” he says softly. A smile fails to quirk his lips, but the taste of it is there. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”


End file.
